Boom

by Sabrina Stark

  Funny, I hadn't heard anyone come in.

  Still, I had a pretty good guess who it was. Deciding that I might as well face the music, I left the safety of the bedroom and padded in my socks toward the kitchen, where sure enough, I saw Brody reaching into the fridge.

  Without turning to face me, he said in a tight voice, "Welcome aboard." The words said one thing, but his tone said something else entirely. As I watched, he grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge before turning around to face me.

  When our gazes locked, I felt myself swallow. His eyes were dark, and his lips, normally so full, formed a thin, angry line.

  Welcome?

  Not hardly.

  Still, I said what needed saying. "Um, thanks."

  Without breaking eye-contact, he twisted the lid off the water and said, "I was joking."

  Terrific. Now I felt stupid. "Yeah, well…" I stammered. "You're not laughing."

  He lifted the bottle and took a long drink before saying with no trace of a smile, "I'm laughing on the inside."

  "Yeah. Me, too."

  At something in his eyes, I felt almost guilty for barging in where I wasn't wanted. But then I recalled the scene from last night, and any remorse went straight out the window.

  I couldn’t stop myself from saying, "And thanks for making me beg, by the way."

  "You're welcome."

  I did my best Brody impression. "I was joking."

  "No shit."

  "Why'd you do that, anyway?" At the memory of him making me kneel in the hallway, I felt like throttling him.

  I'd so hated that. And now I hated it even more, because I'd come to realize something. Brody would never do me a favor, even if I was begging.

  Cripes, probably I was just lucky he hadn't kicked me while I was down. And I meant that literally.

  When his only reply was a tight shrug, I refused to let it go. "I'm just saying, you could've told me up front that you weren't planning to tear down the house."

  "Yeah. But I didn't. So deal with it."

  "Don't worry," I said. "I will."

  His eyebrows lifted. "Do I look worried?"

  Oh, please. He didn't look worried. He looked like every girl's fantasy. But that was hardly the point. I replied, "I don't know. Are you? Worried, I mean?"

  "Me?" He made a sound that was almost a laugh. "Nah. This'll be fun."

  The implication was obvious. It would be fun for him. Not for me.

  Probably the script called for me to gather up my stuff and run for the hills. But that wasn't going to happen, no matter how unwelcome I felt.

  I wasn't giving up. And besides, thanks to him, I had no place to go.

  And even if I did have a home to return to, what would I do when I got there? Obsess over the house, anyway? Watch on TV as Brody turned my grandparent's legacy into something godawful, purely out of spite? Or worse, cry later on when he pulled a major plot twist and demolished the house anyway?

  In my mind, I could almost see it.

  Hello, Wrecking Ball.

  Goodbye, any chance to reclaim the house.

  But now, thanks to that surprising job offer, I wasn't without some degree of influence. Plus, the truth was, I needed the money more than I cared to admit.

  So I stiffened my spine and told Brody flat-out, "If you think you can run me off, forget it."

  "Me?" He offered up a cold smile. "I wouldn't dream of it."

  God, I hated this – the tension, the anger, the pressure building between us. Desperate to release at least some of it, I tried for a joke. With a nervous laugh, I said, "You do realize, if I happened to 'slip' off the roof or something, you'd get some super-bad publicity."

  His expression only darkened. "Let's get one thing straight," he said. "You're not getting anywhere near that roof."

  Oh, for crying out loud. "I was joking."

  "It's no joke," he said. "I don't need some amateur messing this up."

  "Oh come on. I just meant—"

  "I know what you meant." A new edge crept in to his voice. "And let me tell you something. Even though I wouldn't toss you off – since I'd be stuck cleaning up the mess – I can't say the same for my brothers."

  At the implied threat, I felt the blood drain from my face. "What?"

  "You heard me," he said. "Now, you want some advice?"

  "From you? Not really."

  "Stay out of their way," he said. "And mine, too, while you're at it."

  I made a sound of frustration. "I already told you, I was joking."

  But in front of me, Brody looked like he wouldn't know a joke if it hit him in the face with a hammer.

  Still, I tried again. "And you were joking, too." I hesitated. "Right? I mean, your brothers wouldn't seriously toss me off the roof or anything." I felt myself swallow. "Would they?"

  "Think what you want," he said. "We start tomorrow at eight." His gaze raked the length of me before he said, "And wear a jacket or something, will you?"

  I frowned. "What?"

  His gaze settled rudely on my chest. "Unless you want to put on a show."

  I looked down and immediately saw what he meant. My pale-yellow T-shirt was still damp, and my bra wasn't nearly thick enough to hide the fact that my nipples were embarrassingly erect.

  Well, this wasn't humiliating or anything.

  But it wasn't my fault.

  Earlier I'd been hot. Now I was cold. And, so were my nipples, apparently. Or maybe – and this was the worst part – they were responding to Brody on some primitive level.

  The little traitors.

  Now, my mortification was complete.

  Still, whether Brody meant to or not, he'd done me a favor by reminding me that I'd need to be more careful in my attire – unless I wanted to flash my goodies to millions of strangers.

  And to him.

  The jackass.

  But I hadn't meant to flash anyone, especially someone who was making it his personal mission to humiliate me. Seriously, even when he was giving me a heads-up, did he have to be so rude about it?

  But this was Brody Blastoviak, so yes, apparently, he did.

  And already, he was turning away.

  I called out, "Wait!"

  He turned back and eyed me with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "For what?"

  "A question." I cleared my throat. "The job offer – it included room and board. Do you know anything about that? Like where I'll be staying?"

  He glanced down, taking in my stocking-clad feet. "Seems to me you already know."

  My face flushed with renewed embarrassment. Great. Now like I felt like an oaf for removing my shoes. But I'd had a good reason. Stiffly, I informed him, "My shoes were messy."

  "So?"

  "So I didn't want to track grass through the house. It is your house, right?"

  Without bothering to reply, he said, "Are we done?"

  "No. You never answered my question."

  "Which was…?"

  "Where I’m staying. Is it here? In the crew house? That is what Waverly called it, right?"

  "You could say that."

  I wasn't even sure which part of my question he was replying to, but it was pretty obvious that my hunch was correct. "So…do you know who else is staying here?"

  He looked at me for a long cold moment. And then, his lips formed a tight imitation of a smile. "Waverly."

  My stomach sank. "What?"

  I'd feared as much. Still, the confirmation felt like a kick to the gut. Even so, I reminded myself that it could always be worse. Sure, Waverly obviously hated me, but somehow, I'd make it work.

  And besides, it wasn't like I'd be living with a whole group of people who hated me.

  The thought had barely crossed my mind when a wicked gleam appeared in Brody's eyes. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "And me."

  Chapter 20

  Brody

  Chase was laughing his ass off. "No fucking way. Have you told Waverly?"

  It had been only ten minutes since I'd walked into m
y brother's condo. He'd spent nine of those minutes laughing – at me.

  Hell, I might've laughed too, if only I weren't the one in the hot seat.

  We were standing out on his main balcony overlooking the river. An hour had passed since I'd left Arden at the crew house, and I was still royally ticked – mostly at myself for letting Arden get under my skin.

  In reply to Chase's question, I said, "Oh yeah. I told her." In fact, I'd called Waverly on my cell just as I'd pulled up to the place I called home – a waterfront development that contained a dozen upscale condos, including mine and Chase's.

  This made us brothers and neighbors, which worked out better than you'd think.

  Chase grinned. "I bet she loved that."

  Waverly? She had, actually – but only after she'd learned that I'd be staying at the crew house, too. This begged a serious question. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

  Under normal circumstances, Waverly and I would be staying in separate hotel suites while the camera crew stayed in a rental somewhere near the job site.

  But this project was local, which meant that I'd been planning to stay at my own place, just a short walk away from where I was standing right now.

  But instead, I'd be shacking up with Arden Weathers, and Waverly, too, while I was at it. Obviously, I'd lost my fucking mind.

  And now Chase was laughing again. "So, what are you gonna do? Sleep in a big ol' pile?"

  I gave him a look. "I already told you, it's got three bedrooms."

  "You didn't need to tell me," he said. "I saw the place. Remember?"

  Had he? Shit, the last few months had been so packed, I couldn't recall much of anything. When my only reply was a loose shrug, he suggested, "Or maybe you could take turns."

  I wasn't following. "What?"

  "You know," he said with a laugh. "Waverly one night, Arden the next."

  Nope. Not a chance. There's this saying – Never stick your dick in crazy. It was a good rule. And unlike Chase, I followed it easy enough. Crazy chicks weren't my thing, which ruled out both of my new roommates.

  I gave Chase a stiff smile. "If you want to trade places, let me know."

  At this, he paused as if actually considering the idea.

  I wasn't buying it.

  We both knew that he wouldn't be going anywhere near the crew house, not unless we were filming. He had responsibilities of his own – duties that didn't involve supervising construction projects, here or anywhere else.

  Chase was the face of our company.

  He was the one who shook hands and smiled for the cameras. He wasn't a politician, but he was good at dealing with people – government officials, suppliers, and the public in general.

  He dressed sharp, talked smart, and made people feel like they really knew him, whether it was true or not.

  He had a real knack for marketing, too, which is how we'd gotten the show in the first place. Chase had made it happen. And me? I was making it work.

  Unlike my brother, I was the one who got dirty, who inspected the houses and ran the crews. It was the way I liked it, and I didn't need Chase or anyone else honing in on my turf.

  But I wasn't worried. Even though I'd offered to trade places, we both knew that Chase wouldn't consider trading any more than I would. He was juggling projects of his own, along with enough crazy chicks to fill an asylum.

  With a laugh, he said, "You think I won't."

  I made a show of eyeing his hands. No callouses. No scars. No raw knuckles from the occasional mishap. Still, I had to admit, the guy could swing a hammer with the best of them.

  When I made no reply, he said, "Eh, forget it. I'm too pretty for construction."

  Pretty? It's not how I would've put it. Like myself, the guy was six-foot two and packed with muscle. But I knew what he meant. If he ever decided to give up on the business, he could make a decent fortune modeling underwear.

  I wasn't kidding. He'd been offered such a gig already. Then again, I had, too. We all had, even Mason, who had all the charm of a hitman heading to the gallows.

  And speaking of gallows, I recalled my murderous new roommate. "Get this," I said. "Arden warned me that if I tossed her off the roof, the show would suffer." I made a scoffing sound. "Like I'd try to kill her."

  Of everything she'd said, this was the thing that had set me off. I didn’t like her. But she wasn't worth killing. And more to the point, I took my responsibilities seriously.

  The film crew, the carpenters, the plumbers – everyone under me was as safe as I could make them. And whether I liked it or not, this now included Arden Weathers.

  She wouldn't be getting hurt. Not if I could help it.

  Chase said, "It might not be too bad."

  I wasn't following. "What?"

  "The roof thing." His tone grew speculative. "Let's say she 'fell off', but landed in a dumpster filled with insulation. The audience – man, they'd eat that shit up." He gave a half-shrug. "Assuming she survived."

  From the look on his face, he wasn't kidding.

  It was a good reminder that his easy persona was skin deep at best. I replied, "Well, there is that."

  He reached up to stroke his chin. "And think of the cliffhanger," he continued. "She goes over, and we're like, 'Tune in next week to see if she makes it.'"

  And here I thought I was cold.

  I crossed my arms and waited for him to finish.

  At something in my expression, he said, "Hey, don't give me that look. If I were Mason, I'd just toss her off and be done with it."

  He wasn't joking.

  And when I nodded in agreement, neither was I.

  There was only one person who hated Arden Weathers more than I did, and that person was my oldest brother, who'd taken a strong personal interest in the torching of my truck.

  I told Chase, "Forget it. She's not getting anywhere near the roof."

  And if I played my cards right, she wouldn't be getting anywhere near the actual work either.

  After last season's fiasco with that dumb-ass interior designer – "Miss LaRue" or whatever she wanted to be called – I'd had more than enough crap from people who didn't know what they were doing.

  Chase said, "Don't look so glum. There's still time to back out."

  "Of what?"

  "The living situation," he said. "Tell Arden you were kidding or that you changed your mind. Or hell, don't tell her anything. Just stay the fuck away. She'll figure it out."

  "And let Arden off the hook?" I said. "Forget it."

  Maybe a smarter guy would've taken Chase's advice. But I wasn't feeling smart. And backing out now would be all too easy.

  For her.

  Not me.

  And besides, I reminded myself, I was juggling several other projects across the country, which meant that I'd be doing my share of travel – without Arden Weathers.

  Good thing, too.

  Every time she opened that sweet mouth of hers, something sharp came out to sour my mood – like that thing about tossing her off the roof.

  She might not know it, but I ran the safest job sites of anyone I knew. And yeah, maybe Chase or Mason might want to send her flying, but they wouldn't act on it, not while I was around.

  And why?

  It was because I didn't need the hassle. Or the mess.

  And shit, like I'd let a rookie anywhere near the roof.

  The way I saw it, Arden had one job – to look pretty for the cameras so Landon Tarrington got his money's worth.

  But when the cameras weren't rolling, she could sit at the crew house and mind her own damn business.

  It was a nice thought. But Arden, as usual, had ideas of her own.

  Chapter 21

  Arden

  I woke long before dawn, wondering if I'd slept at all. Today would be my first day as a consultant, and I was stupidly nervous.

  In spite of Brody's claim that he and Waverly would be staying at the crew house, I'd spent last night alone, with no sign of either one of them.

&n
bsp; This should've been a good thing. And it was. But waiting for them to show up at any moment had done a real number on my nerves.

  Even now, hours later, the pizza I'd had delivered for last night's dinner wasn't sitting so great. But I wasn't going to let that stop me, so I scrambled out of bed, showered, and dressed in clothes that were decidedly not sexy.

  Soon, I was officially ready – and with nearly two hours to spare.

  Now what?

  With sudden inspiration, I decided to take a detailed walk through the house – meaning the one we were fixing up – and gather my thoughts before Brody's arrival.

  If I used the time wisely, I figured, I could be smart and prepared. And just maybe, I wouldn't make a giant fool of myself while the cameras were rolling.

  There was only one problem. When I walked out the front door of the crew house, I spotted a familiar black pickup in the driveway across the street.

  It was Brody's.

  I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. He'd told me that we started at eight, but it was barely six-thirty.

  Crap.

  But hey, if we were going to be working together, I couldn't avoid him forever, so I threw back my shoulders and marched across the street, anyway.

  When I found the front door unlocked, I walked inside and called out, "Hello?"

  No response.

  But I did hear activity upstairs – the sounds of footsteps and a few thuds, like someone was moving supplies or equipment.

  Following the noise, I headed up the front stairway. When I reached the top, I spotted Brody in the upstairs hall. His back was turned, and he was wearing his usual outfit – jeans and a T-shirt.

  He was yanking at a green garden hose that snaked from the middle of the hallway and disappeared into the bathroom – the one where he'd caught me showering just a couple of nights ago.

  Several feet to his left, I saw a bucket filled with rags and a large funnel lying on its side.

  Forcing a smile, I tried again. "Good Morning."

  Without turning to look, he said, "What are you doing here?"

  Wasn't it obvious? "I work here. Today's my first day. Remember?"

  Finally, he turned to face me. With a look that was anything but welcoming, he lifted his wrist and studied his watch – a big, black thing that looked like it could take a sledgehammer and keep on ticking.